


A Thistle's Thorns

by LilBittyMonster



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: ALL OF IT, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, I love her, Polyamory, Recreational Drug Use, Tags will be updated as needed, eventually, lots of self-discovery will be happening, my SoSu is an axe murderer, no seriously, on multiple accounts, prepare for all the psychobuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-02-26 04:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilBittyMonster/pseuds/LilBittyMonster
Summary: Years of fighting with words in the courtroom haven't prepared demure and polite Elara Blackwood for fighting with actual fists, and nothing could prepare her for waking up from a deep sleep to a husband dead and child missing. Where is her son, and will she be able to find a place in this violent new world?





	1. The First Day: Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> Hooray, my debut into the Fallout fandom is here! After much bullying from crackinglamb, several characters and hundreds of screenshots later, it is here.

Elara blinked and raised her hand against the sudden sunlight, the platform of the vault door grinding to a halt beneath her. Her eyes adjusted, and her breath caught in her throat. Spread below her was nothing but dullness and death. The once vibrant underbrush that had surrounded her home was now brown and grey. She turned behind her, surveying the few empty buildings outside of the vault. A flock of crows were the only living thing in sight. Stepping off the platform, she shakily made her way through the outbuildings, pocketing the spare meds and ammo. She tried not to look too hard at the remains of the military guards as she continued down the path to her neighborhood.

As she pushed open the rusted gate a patch of blue fabric caught her eye, and she found herself looking down at a pile of bones wrapped in a tattered blue dress. One of her neighbors who wasn't let into the vault. A mix of anger and sadness rose to a ball in her throat before she swallowed it down and kept walking. She was hyperaware of the sound of her footsteps in the silence.

As she rounded the corner of her neighbor's old house, she heard the faint sound of a familiar voice humming in the distance. Closing the distance, the rusted form of a robot cutting the hedges appeared.

“Codsworth?” she asked, hopeful.

The Mr. Handy turned from his work with a whir.

“As I live and breathe,” Codsworth said with disbelief. “It...it's you! It's really you!”

“Codsworth!” Elara exhales. “You're still here?”

“Of course I'm still here, mum,” he chuckles. Oh, how she's missed that voice. “You didn't really think a bit of radiation would stop the pride and joy of General Atomics International, did you?” Elara could picture him shaking his head if he were human.

“Now then, you're looking a little rough around the edges. Best not let the hubby see you in such a state, eh? Is...is sir with you?” he queried.

Elara's throat threatened to hold her words hostage.

“They...they killed him, Codsworth. They killed Nate,” she managed.

“These…..these horrible things you're saying, mum, they don't make any sense! I believe you need a distraction, hm? Yes, a distraction to calm this dire mood. Why not have a nice family activity? Checkers, perhaps. Or charades!” His arms gestured as he floated. “Shaun does so love that game.” He cleared his throat. “Is the lad….uh….with you?” He floated slightly higher, hopeful almost.

“Someone...God dammit, someone stole my baby,” Elara said in disbelief. “Why would someone take my baby…..”

“It's worse than I thought. Hmmmm, you're suffering from……..hunger-induced paranoia! Not eating properly for 200 years will do that, I suppose,” the robot chuckled.

Elara's mind stopped.

“What? 200 years?! Are you sure?” she gasped.

“Well, a bit over 210, actually, accounting for the Earth's rotation and a few dings to the chronometer. That means you're two centuries late for dinner! Perhaps I could whip a little something up for you, eh? You must be famished.” Codsworth's chatter sounded overly bright.

“I...Food? Yeah…...I….. need to think.” she responded absently.

She followed the cheerful humming numbly back into the ruins of her house, taking a seat on one of the remaining kitchen chairs and burying her face in a palm. Codsworth's puttering accompanied by the ever-present tune almost fooled her that when she opened her eyes again, everything would be as it should.

“Here you are, mum,” chirped the Mister Handy, startling her. He slid a battered box of Sugar Bombs across the table.

Elara regarded it blankly, suddenly not hungry.

“Now, I've been thinking,” he continued, “If something is amiss, your loved ones may simply be hiding. From...the Red Menace,” he finished dramatically.

“Codsworth,” Elara said tiredly, “I don't think the Reds are gonna be a problem anymore.”

“I have an idea,” he stated. “Let's search the neighbourhood together. After all, sir and Shaun, they're….they're my family too.” The dilators in his eyestalks had opened almost fully, and it may have been the lighting but he looked like he was tearing up.

“Codsworth...” Elara asked gently, “are you sure you're holding up ok?”

“I…...I…...” he stuttered, and then- “Oh, mum, it's been just _horrible_! Two centuries with no one to talk to, no one to serve!” he lamented. “I spent the first. Ten. _Years_ trying to keep the floors waxed, but nothing gets out nuclear fallout from vinyl wood, nothing! And don't get me started about the futility of dusting a collapsed house. And the car. The _car_ ,” his voice broke. “How do you polish rust?!”

Elara's heart fractured further for him. She may be 200 years out of her time, but at least she was asleep for all of it.

“Hey, Codsworth? Stay with me, pal,” she said as he wound down. “What do you know?”

“I'm afraid I don't know anything, mum. The bombs came and then you all left in such a hurry and well…..I thought for sure you were...were dead,” he sniffled. “I did manage to find this holotape, though!” An arm swiveled about, a small orange rectangle clutched in between the pincers. “I believe sir was going to present it to you, as a gift. But then, well…..everything happened...” he trailed off.

Elara took the holotape, staring down at it. All that was left of her husband, this plastic rectangle and a band of gold.

“Thank you, Codsworth,” she said thickly.

“Now then,” he said, clearing his throat again, “enough of me feeling sorry for myself. Shall we take a look around? Sir and young Shaun may turn up yet.”

“Is there anything dangerous?” Elara asked as she slipped the holotape into a pocket.

“Oh, just some pesky dogs and a few insects, nothing out of the ordinary. Shall we set off then?”

“Yeah, lead the way.”

Codsworth turned about with a sharp click and started humming lazily again. Elara pushed herself up from the chair and checked the clip in the 10mm as she followed him, just in case.

“Ah ha! I see you!” Codsworth sang as he jetted to the nearest house.

Inside, she could see several large black bodies flying around on sickly iridescent wings. Elara fired off a handful of shots, but the bugs moved too quickly for her rusty aim to hit. Codsworth's flamethrower was much more effective. One was roasted in a matter of seconds, another was still hovering angrily and firing...something at them from its rear. The one remaining flew directly at Elara, and she swung out blindly our of sheer instinct. She felt the pistol connect solidly on something, and it hurt going by the shrill screech. She lashed out again and the blow dazed it long enough for her to fire another final round into the carapace. Elara stood, panting, with the gun still aimed at the bug as she turned to look at the Mister Handy.

“I thought you said there were just some bugs,” she accused.

“Oh, these are the bugs, mum,” the robot replied. “Everything's changed since the bombs fell, from what I've witnessed. Shall we keep looking? My sensors are picking up movement in another house.”

“Well, at least I know what to expect,” Elara muttered as she reloaded.

The house at the back of the cal-de-sac had another small swarm of flies, as well as the remains of some poor sap who had tried to barricade themselves against the world with bits of furniture. She bent to pick up the half empty box of ammo left on the rotting carpet, brushing off the bits of leaves as she straightened.

“Your family isn't here either,” Codsworth said forlornly. “They're…..they're really gone, aren't they?”

“Shaun's out there, Codsworth,” she insisted. “I need to find him.”

“What about Concord, mum?” Codsworth offered as he floated behind her. “Plenty of people there. And, last I went, they only beat me with sticks a few times before I had to run back home.”

“There's still people alive in Concord?” Elara asked disbelievingly.

“Yes, although they're a bit rough.”

“Okay. I uh…..I think I'll head out there now. Hold the fort for me here, ok?”

“Proud to serve, mum!” He saluted with an arm before drifting away, humming cheerfully again.

Elara turned and crunched her way across the dead grass of the park. The wooden bridge had collapsed on one side, but was still intact enough to be used. Up ahead, she saw two shapes stretched out on the cracked pavement. Drawing closer she could tell one was human and another looked like a shaved dog. The dog had a tire iron sticking out from between two of its ribs and the man's throat had been torn out, judging from the dried blood crusted under his head. She looked down at her jumpsuit, and back again at the denim rags the man wore, and made the decision. She'd be less likely to stick out like a sore thumb in that clothing, and it looked more durable than the thin material of the vault suit to boot. Carefully she stripped the body and clutched the pile of cloth to her chest. After a second thought she pulled the tire iron from the dog, just in case. She could change at the Red Rocket station up ahead.

As rounded the bend in the side of the hill, she noticed a large dog, unshaved, wandering around the empty parking lot. It noticed her at the same time, ears perked as it trotted over to her.

“Hey there,” she crooned at it, crouching down. It was obviously taken care of, and didn't shy from her touch. “Where's your owner?”

It's response was to whimper and lick at her fingers. She chuckled and ruffled its ears.

“Guess we should stick together then, huh?” She got a cheerful 'boof' in response.

She smiled, stood, and headed into the open garage to change, noticing a bright yellow frame set up against the back wall, amongst other things. After she was newly clothed and had the vault suit stashed in a cabinet drawer for later she headed back outside. The dog was waiting patiently next to a pile of tires, whuffing at her to get her attention.

“What is it?”

She kneeled next to the animal, and a small white container nestled into a tire caught her eye.Inside she found a stimpak, the casing slightly scratched, and a bottle of Rad-X. She tucked them both into a pocket inside the jacket, the tire iron looped onto her belt, and-

Suddenly the ground erupted and out barrelled a wrinkly pink thing with teeth gnashing angrily. She fumbled with the pistol for a breath before squeezing the trigger and shooting the thing in the head. It squealed and flopped to one side, and now that it wasn't actively trying to kill her Elara saw that it was a naked mole rat the size of a husky. The dog was growling and snapping at another rat, and Elara shot it in the rump over the gas pumps as its throat was torn out.

Elara felt a hard bite at the back of her thigh, shouting out in pain. She turned and kicked out at the fat body behind her, feeling the edge of long teeth through the leather boots. It fell back with a squeal and fell still with a bullet to the brain. More were streaming out of the ground and running around the corner of the garage, squealing shrilly as they lunged at the dog. She backed up quickly when one broke off and made for her, stumbling over the uneven ground as she shot, shot again-

Click.

F-fiddlesticks.

She bashed the thing in the side of its overgrown head with the empty pistol, hearing the satisfying crunch of bone against steel. Hefting the tire iron from its place in her belt Elara ran over to where two rats were biting at the dog and beat the nearest one bloody, letting the other be taken care of. She looked around, bloated pink carcasses strewn across the cracked asphalt, a blood spatter here and there for flavour. She relaxed her stance and bent to check on the dog.

“Hey, c'mere,” she beckoned, “you okay?”

Beyond a few scrapes and a bit of matted blood it its coat, it seemed unhurt. A pink tongue licked at her fingers playfully as it panted, and she deemed it good enough.

“Let's go, then.”

Elara took a pause to reload the clip and clean the tire iron off before they headed back out onto the road south. The dog loped ahead of her eagerly for a few strides, then looped back to pad alongside her before running ahead again. Elara felt a small smile tug at her lips every time those big brown eyes came back to her, tail wagging and tongue lolling.

A large cow carcass lay half-rotted at the crossroads, and as the pair approached two insects the size of the dog took off from their resting places. Elara immediately fired off a couple shots, one of them landing on the thorax of the nearest one. The dog was growling and leaping at the one hovering around its head. Elara could hear the sharp clack of its jaws snapping on thin air. Pulling the tire iron from her belt she lashed out at the bug making another lunge at her. The steel made contact and she felt a thrill as the thing dropped to the ground. She and her canine companion made short work of the other one.

“Well, that was exciting, wasn't it?” she panted. The dog gave a soft 'whuff'.

The first house on the street, some beat up old grey thing, looked solid enough to look into. Elara pushed the broken door open slowly, gun at the ready. Confident that the house was empty, she straightened and entered fully, the dog pushing its way past her and sniffing eagerly around the floorboards. From the doorway she spotted a box of Sugar Bombs perched on top of a shelf, as well as a can of Pork 'N Beans on the stovetop. A quick peak in the fridge revealed a Nuka-Cola Quantum, which gave Elara a thrill, and a tin of InstaMash. She piled the food into the fridge for the trip back to Sanctuary and headed up the stairs. The dog followed behind her with soft clicking of blunt nails on wood.

The upper floor was bare except for a pile of broken bed pieces in the corner and a dresser with its drawers ajar. Stepping carefully around the holes in the floorboards, Elara pocketed the few bobby pins laying scattered on top of the dresser as well as the red bandana. The dog whined and pawed at the wall next to the dresser.

“What?” she asked the canine, leaning around the corner to get a better look.

There was a small rectangular wall safe embedded into the crumbling plaster. Elara knelt in front of it and looked at the tumbler, frowning to herself. It looked a little beyond her meager lockpick skills.

“Won't be able to pick this,” she muttered as she stood.

The dog had picked its way across the room to where the bed was piled in the corner, and was stamping its foot sharply next to a beaten and bloodied yellow tin.

“You're quite the finder, huh?” Elara asked with a small grin as she ruffled the dog's head.

She popped the hinge on the container and found another syringe, this one a different colour, and a small plastic red and white inhaler. She slid them into the pocket with the other two medical vials. She grabbed the remaining Nuka-Cola from the window sill and popped the cap off, pocketing the disc. It may be the end of the world, but she wasn't about to start littering. Old habits die hard.

The sugary liquid and the calories it brought with it buzzed slightly in the back of her throat. The small Geiger counter on the Pip-Boy ticked, telling her that it was slightly irradiated, and Elara shook her head at herself. Of course, everything that was around when the bombs fell would be irradiated now. Well, so much for the food she found. She finished the soda anyway; if Codsworth was right she'd need any calories she could get, and she never ate the cereal. The rest of the houses and storefronts were boarded up, but she kept the 10mm drawn anyways. The dog seemed carefree in its meandering, brown body swinging lazily from one corner of her vision to the other. Other than the two of them and a flock of crows, the streets were deserted.

Until they rounded the bend in the road. Between a couple rusted out cars and some sandbag barricades, a handful of people were milling about. Maybe they had seen the people who took Shaun.

“Hello?” Elara called out tentatively. “Has anyo-”

A bullet whizzed past her head. Not friendlies, then.

“Get some, motherfucker,” snapped a woman covered in dirt and blood, lunging at her with a…..pool cue? Ok.

Elara didn't have much time to further criticise her choice of weapon before she was within spitting distance. The heavy wood came down with a 'thwack' on her left arm and sent vibrations up to her shoulder. She fired the pistol reflexively, not needing to worry about aiming at point blanc range. The woman grunted and stumbled as the bullet found a home in her hip. Taking advantage of the distraction Elara put another one in her skull. The body dropped to the pavement with a wet thud.

_Should I feel bad about that?_

_No, she was trying to kill me. Or at least knock me into next Tuesday._

There was a chorus of yells from farther up the road, interspersed with a strange electrical sound. Knowing to expect no kindness, Elara fired without hesitation at the people shooting, narrowly avoiding taking lead to the face. The dog got in on the action, too, biting arms and legs while she reloaded behind a lamppost. Suddenly another figure came around the truck, black diamond shapes smudged over her eyes.

“Haha, there you are!” she crowed triumphantly.

The axe she wielded was raised in her hand, and Elara barely had the time to pull the tire iron from her belt and block. The blade was mere inches from her head, and her already sore arm trembled slightly from the effort. She kicked out at her assailant, causing her to drop the blade and allowing Elara to stand. She brought the tire iron across the woman's face, hearing the crunch of cartilage as her nose broke, and finished her off with a couple bullets to the chest. Ducking out from her hiding spot, she looked around for anyone else left shooting.

“Hey! Up here!” called a man from the balcony of the museum. “I've got a group of settlers here and we're being attacked. Grab that laser musket and help us, please!” He fired another beam of red light at someone behind the corner of the buildings, that strange hum filling the air again.

Elara and the dog finished off the remaining shooter. The man had disappeared behind the door, and she could hear the vague sounds of gunshots from within the building. The dog trotted over to her, pink tongue lolling happily. She gave its ears a good-natured ruffle.

“You're getting treats soon as I find some,” she told it. The responding 'boof' sounded quite enthusiastic.

Elara took a few minutes to catch her breath as she went around looting the bodies, taking any spare ammo she could find. She got back to the woman behind the truck and picked up the ax from where it had landed on the pavement. The axe wasn't actually an axe, she realised, but a forged out hunk of steel that had been honed to a fine edge and strapped to a tire iron. She tested it against her thumb and was impressed with its condition. She hooked that through her belt and left the plain one she found next to the roll of duct tape in the corner store.

Satisfied she had grabbed everything there was to grab, Elara strode over to the front steps of the museum. A dead man lay on the ground, wearing the same Colonial style getup as the man on the balcony, with an odd looking gun and several bright yellow fusion cells scattered next to him. Hefting the gun and pocketing the cells, she looked at the dog.

“You coming inside or staying here?” she asked.

The dog bumped her hand with its snout, smiling and wagging its tail. Elara chuckled.

“Well, let's get this over with then,” she said as she pushed the door open.


	2. The First day: Concord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's shoot for a tentative schedule of posting at the beginning of each month, yeah?

The wooden door clacked shut softly behind them as the two crept into the museum. The glass ceiling had shattered at some point, lighting the broken walkways and tattered banners that swayed in a slight breeze. The ominous creaking of ancient wood echoed around the open space. From her crouched position, Elara could see a couple figures moving around and shooting at something on the second level above her. There were gunshots ricocheting off to her left behind a wall, out of sight. She took aim at the nearest visible head with the musket. The beam of red energy hummed through the air, singeing the wooden post behind her intended target.

“Sh-Sugarbombs,” she hissed.

“Huh? What was that?” she heard a woman ask.

“Someone's out there, find 'em!” another ordered.

“Sugarbombs,” she repeated, cranking the handle and watching the blinking red light in the chamber brighten before taking aim again.

This time the beam hit home, the body dropping to the floor. She smirked in a short-lived burst of pride before a bullet whizzed past her head. “Ha, I see you!” shouted the woman, shooting at her from above the ticket booth.

“C'mon, move it,” she urged the dog forward towards the open doorway to the right of the atrium.

She ducked her head just as another bullet flew towards them, lodging itself in the wall next to the doorway. Hiding behind the wall, Elara cranked the gun again and fired at the woman. She heard her curse in pain before another hail of bullets flew her way.

“Too slow,” she muttered as she abandoned the musket on the floor, reaching for the 10mm in her pocket.

She ducked out into the doorway again and shot until the woman dropped. The narrow hallway was dimly lit by the glow of whatever light source was in the next room. Elara unhooked the bladed tire iron and hefted it in her left hand at the ready, the weight oddly reassuring. Just as well, since a hooded figure rushed at her, armed with a pool cue. Seriously, what was with these guys and pool cues?

Elara fired at their torso as the dog leapt at their arm, clamping down and tugging. They hit it in the face with their other fist, making it release and reel back with a whimper. They started forward again, and just as they brought their arms up to swing the makeshift club, Elara raised her own weapon and sliced into their throat. They gagged as they dropped, clutching at the opening before going silent.

_You did that way too easily._

_Can we worry about that later, when I'm not five seconds away from dying? Thanks._

The dog shook itself and bounded into the next room, and Elara could hear a masculine shout above the growls. Rounding the bend, she stepped into a brightly lit display of mannequins dressed as militia men and Redcoats surrounding a lone figure currently beating the Shepard in the ribs with a tire iron.

“Fuck off, mutt!” the man growled, and the dog growled back around a mouthful of arm.

Elara quickly put a bullet in his head. The dog released his arm and trotted back over.

“You good?” she asked, and she took the muffled 'whuff' and wagging tail as a yes.

She filled the clip of the pistol in the interlude of passing through the doorway into the main space. She headed towards the central staircase and-

“Ow!” she cried as she landed on the basement floor.

The upper floorboards had given out, making a nice pit for her to fall into. The dog whined from up above her before leaping down to sniff at her worriedly. She rolled to her side and pushed herself up into a crouched position, wincing as her right ankle gave slightly under her weight.

“Well, that's inconvenient,” she muttered, shaking her leg in an attempt to alleviate the pain. She hoped no one heard her fall.

The dog's blunt nails scratched against something metallic, and she turned about to see an old nuclear generator behind a chain link cage. The terminal hooked up to it looked undamaged, and a closer look showed that the fusion core was still in its slot. Aside from a heavy layer of dust, the machine looked completely untouched.

“Let's have a look at you, shall we?” she said quietly to the machine as she booted up the terminal.

She was greeted by a wall of random symbols interspersed with four letter words. After a look between her options, she keyed over to what she thought was the most logical choice. She sighed in mild disappointment as it beeped negatively at her. Another series of gunshots followed by that laser gun sound came from over her head.

_You're supposed to be helping those people, remember?_

_I'm already down here, and this could be useful later._

She looked at the rest of the choices, then back at the one she had picked, and keyed back over to the first column. On the way, a pair of brackets lit up as an enter-able option. Elara paused, unsure, and hit 'enter'. The log showed 'DUD REMOVED' and the word she was going to choose turned into a series of underscores.

_Well, that makes this a whole lot easier._

Elara moved the cursor all the way back to the top of the left column, working her way over character by character looking for more of those dud sections. Another handful of words were removed, and the alloted tries were renewed, until a single word was left.

“Nice,” she congratulated herself as the computer chirped cheerily.

She unlocked the maglocks on the security door and stepped back as it swung open. She pulled the fusion core carefully from its place, the generator slowly ticking down. The lights flickered a couple of times before it switched to the backup power. She pocketed the yellow cylinder, still warm, and began picking her way back up to the stairs.

“Peekaboo!” shouted a hoarse voice to her left.

A bare-chested brute was charging down the stairs brandishing a crude pistol, his shots going wide. The dog snarled behind her as Elara put three rounds into his sternum, then fell to the side as the wood in front of her splintered under a hail of bullets. Another shooter was crouched behind a pile of crates while they reloaded, and she took the time to jog up the rest of the stairs and hide behind one of the pillars.

“Aw, where'd you go? I was just startin' to have fun,” they snapped as the wood behind Elara's head resonated with impacts of bullets.

The dog ran past her towards their assailant, despite her hissed commands for it to come back where it was safe. The bullets stopped hitting the wall behind her head and started peppering the floor around the dog, and a high-pitched yelp told her one found its mark. Elara's lip twitched at the sound and she flung herself from behind the pillar and aimed blindly at the attacker. Between the rest of her clip and the dog's jaws, the shooter was a pile of gore and bullet holes in seconds.

“Alright, where'd the mean man hit you?” she asked the dog, patting its hide down for any serious wounds.

Her fingers brushed over a particularly damp spot, and the dog shied away with a whine.

“Easy, c'mere, let me see,” she crooned softly, careful not to touch the same spot as she moved the matted fur out of the way.

The bullet had left a gouge about the size of her thumb over a rib, but she saw no evidence of it still being lodged in the muscle tissue. A moment's hesitation, then Elara pulled one of the stimpaks from her pocket.

“Hope this works,” she said as she injected the needle into the skin just above the opening.

To her relief, the wound scabbed over in a matter of seconds. She recapped the syringe, now half full, and dropped it back in her pocket. The dog shook its coat and licked her fingers in thanks. Elara patted its nose absently before reloading the 10mm.

The door she needed was on the other side of the missing floor, so she ducked back around to the hallway on her right. The lack of lights gave her an advantage, and she crouched down and slowly crept along the wall.

“I'm tellin' ya man, let's just get the hell outta here. We got no reason to hang around and get shot,” she heard faintly.

“Stop bein' a fucking pansy. We hold out for the others, like we're fuckin' supposed to,” a deeper voice growled.

“What are ya, deaf? Somebody's out there shootin' the place up. I ain't sittin' around waitin' to die.”

_Ok, so there's only two of them. Good odds._

“I swear to god, you make a move for that exit, I'll gut you myself. Now shut your mouth, or we'll never get the drop on this bitch,” snarled Mr. Tough Guy.

The dog chose that moment to leap from the shadows and lunge at the nearest body. Elara straightened and shot over the half wall, braining the second man. The first shook the dog free, coming after her with a tire iron in hand. She missed the first couple shots and caught the end of the iron on her left arm. The pistol was brought across dirty skin, causing him to reel back. Elara fired a final shot and he was down for the count.

Idly rubbing her abused limb, she picked the two bodies for any spare bullets. The duffel bag on the floor had a couple boxes of .38 and another shotgun. Pocketing the ammo, Elara continued through the broken wall to the maintenance halls. The dog, thankfully, stayed near her this time, the gentle clacking of nails on stone steps at her side as they ascended.

“I'm comin' in there, and we're gonna skin every last one'a ya!” someone was threatening.

_Oh boy, more people that are probably going to try and kill me. This day just keeps getting better and better._

“C'mon man, they ain't goin' nowhere, we got other shit to deal with,” said his companion.

A pause, then- “Ya hear that? I gotta go take a little walk. I'll be back, and you'll be dead.”

She heard footsteps approach the door that was shut in front of her. She raised the pistol just as the wooden door swung open and a man in a gas mask brandishing (surprise) a pool cue ran at her.

“There you are!” he shouted with malicious glee, his friend following close behind with a wooden pistol.

This time Elara had the wits to shoot at his hands, causing him to drop the bludgeon and leaving him defenseless against the dog. While the two of them were busy, she fired over the green hood at the man behind them, still stuck in the doorway. Unable to get a shot at her without hitting his friend, the man fell after a couple choice bullets. Another couple of rounds dropped the first attacker to the ground.

Elara sagged against the wall, chest heaving. The dog padded over, tail wagging and tongue lolling in a smile.

“Well, should we go meet these people?” she panted as she switched the safety on.

She was answered with an enthusiastic bark and an increase in wagging. Heaving herself off the rusted metal, she plodded through the open door. The dog ran ahead of her excitedly. She just chuckled under her breath. Dogs.

The door at the end of the hallway opened and the dog raced inside out of view. The man from the balcony turned to face her as she stepped into the small room.

“Man, I don't know who you are, but your timing's impeccable,” he said gratefully. “Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”

“Minutemen? So now I'm going backwards in time,” Elara said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“'Protect the people at a minute's notice,'” he quoted. “That was the idea. So I joined up, wanted to make a difference. And I did but...” he trailed off, adjusting the musket in his hands. “Things fell apart. Now it looks like I'm the last Minuteman left standing.” His face was drawn as he spoke.

“Who are these people?” Elara asked, gesturing with her chin at the huddled group.

“Just folks lookin' for a new home, a fresh start,” Preston said, looking across the troupe. “I've been with 'em since Quincy. Lexington looked good for a while, but the ghouls drove us outta there.” He hefted the gun in his arms once more. “A month ago, there were 20 of us. Yesterday there were 8. Now, we're 5,” he continued, his voice somber. “It's just me, the Longs – Marcy and Jun,” he nodded over to the couple crouched on the floor against a desk. “That's old Mama Murphy on the couch. And this here's Sturges.”

“Hey,” said the burly man at the computer.

“Tough break,” Elara replied, not knowing what else to say.

“You don't know the half of it,” Preston said dryly. “Anyway, we figured Concord would be a safe place to settle. Those raiders proved us wrong. But…..” he paused, pursing his lips in hesitation. “Well, we do have one idea.”

“There's a crashed vertibird up on the roof. Old school, pre-war. You might've seen it,” Sturges cut in, straightening and leaning against the desk.

Elara nodded that she had.

“Well, looks like one of its passengers left behind a seriously sweet goody. We're talkin' a full suit of cherry T-45 power armour. Military issue.”

“That's some serious protection,” Elara said, remembering Nate's descriptions.

“Oh it gets better,” Sturges said. “Get the suit, you can rip the minigun right off the vertibird. Do that, and those raiders get an express ticket to hell. Ya dig?”

“Huh,” Elara said eloquently, folding her arms. “Could work.”

“It'll work,” Sturges reassured her. “Provided we can reactivate the suit. It's totally out of juice, probably has been for a hundred years. It can be powered up again, but we're a bit stuck.”

“So what's the solution?” Elara asked, flicking her gaze from Sturges to Preston and back again.

“What you'll need is an old pre-war F.C., a standardised fusion core. Your high-grade, long term nuclear battery,” he explained as an afterthought, and if it were any other time Elara would have bristled. “Used by the military and some companies way back when. And we know right where to find one.”

“But we can't get to the damn thing,” Sturges griped. “It's down in the basement. Locked behind a security gate.” He shook his head ruefully. “Look, I fix stuff. I tinker. Bypassin' security ain't exactly my forte. You could give it a shot,” he ended hopefully.

She reached into the jacket and produced the core from her pocket triumphantly.

“Actually, I already grabbed the fusion core. We're set.”

_Ha, knew it'd come in handy._

“Well, alright then.” Preston's face visibly brightened at the news. “Maybe our luck's finally turning around. Once you jack the power core into the power armour and grab that minigun, those raiders'll know they picked the wrong fight. Good luck.”

Elara nodded at the two men and headed to the door at the far end of the office.

“You're not what I expected Dogmeat to find in that little neighborhood. But oh, so much better,” said a wispy voice from the couch. The old woman, Mama Murphy, was slumped into the worn black suede, Dogmeat panting happily at her feet.

“So he's your dog?” Elara asked the woman.

“Oh he ain't my dog, no sir,” she responded slowly. “Dogmeat, he's what you'd call his own man. You can't own a free spirit like that. But he chooses his friends, and sticks with 'em. He'll stay by you now. I saw it.”

“Visions. Uh huh,” Elara said skeptically.

Mama Murphy smiled. “Oh, I know what you're thinkin'. This old lady, she's out of her mind. But it's the chems,” she said, as if that explained everything. “They give ol' Mama Murphy the Sight. Been that way as long as I can remember.”

Elara eyed her dubiously.

“I'm listening.”

“I can see a bit of what was, and what will be. And even what is, right now.” She leaned forward with wide eyes. “And right now I can see there's something coming. Drawn by the noise, and the chaos. And it….is…….angry.”

“What is it? Mama Murphy, I need more than that.”

She fell back against the cushions. “I'm sorry, kid, but I just don't know. The Sight ain't always clear. But believe me when I tell you it ain't a raider,” she said regretfully.

_Right, that's not ominous at all._

“Ah, but I'm tired now,” she continued with a heavy sigh. “And if I ain't mistaken, you've got a job to do.”

Elara just huffed and wove her way past the angry woman. Marcy, she remembered Preston has said.

“These are our lives you're playing with,” she snapped. “Are you listening?!”

Elara just pressed her lips together flatly as she left the office and stepped back into the main building. She heard Dogmeat get up with a heave and padded through the door behind her.

“No, Dogmeat, stay here,” Elara said gently. “Dogs don't belong on roofs.”

Dogmeat tilted his head and whined.

“No, no puppy dog eyes,” Elara warned. “I'll be back, promise.”

He whimpered again but turned back around, tail brushing the floor in dejection. Elara just shook her head and headed up to the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing combat accurately is hard, apparently. I had to start a couple new characters to get everything right. 
> 
> Feel free to shoot me a message [here](https://lilbittywritings.tumblr.com/) or [here](https://lilbittymonster.tumblr.com)


	3. The First Day: Dusk

The wooden door creaked shut behind her, opening to what used to be another office space, now open to the sky. The rotting desk directly in front of her held up an old rusting tool kit, and in front was the familiar orange rectangle of a holotape. Curious, she looked around on the Pip Boy for a player.

“I know these things were meant to play holo-aha, there we go,” she muttered under her breath as she pressed the catch.

A faint burst of static, then a young male voice spoke.

“Personal log. United States Army Staff Sergeant Michael Daly. This past Saturday, October 23rd, while en route to West Stockbridge, our vertibird crashed onto the roof of this museum.”

Elara looked over the weathered wreckage as he narrated the aftermath.

“The cause: EMP following nuclear detonation. Several, in fact. From the intel I've gathered, this was a global event.”

She thought back to the distressed news reporter somberly listing off cities.

“The co-pilot was killed on impact. Pilot died of his injuries a day later. Day after that, Flaherty and Kanawa were shot by some scared, desperate survivours. Then Prozanski took off running. Haven't seen him since.”

“Now it's my turn to go AWOL, if that concept even applies anymore,” he continued resignedly. “My armour's fusion core is burned out, so I guess my soldiering days are done.”

The old suit of power armour stood where it was abandoned, beaten by the years of exposure. Elara tried to picture a young soldier climbing out of it for the last time, not knowing what to do next. Her heart ached.

“I'm heading into Boston, on foot, to see if my sister survived all this. She's got an apartment on Boylston Street. This is Mike Daly, signing out. Good luck. And God bless America. Or what's left of it.”

Another burst of static, then the tape went silent. Elara pushed off from the desk and ejected the tape, placing it gently back on the desk.

“Sorry, Mike, but I need your suit,” she said softly as she hammered in the core with her fist.

The back of the torso and legs peeled open with a soft hiss at the turn of the handle, and Elara hesitantly stepped inside. The back pieces folded behind her automatically, and for a brief moment the whole suit was dark. Her heart thudded in her chest a couple times before the display kicked on. Overlaid on her vision was a rotating compass along the bottom, a stylised icon of all the suit pieces and a Geiger counter on the left, and the battery life of the fusion core on the right. She wiggled her fingers into their individual gloves, testing the flexibility of the suit's metal counterparts as they moved in time.

“Ok, one minigun, please,” she said to no one in particular as she clambered through the hull of the vertibird to where the gun was mounted.

A sharp tug and the ancient steel gave way.

_Nate was right, these things are no joke._

She hung the second belt of ammo on the back handle of the gun and continued towards the front of the building.

“Hey, we got someone on the roof!”

A bullet whizzed by her head, another clinking against the steel torso. She went to reach for the 10mm. Which she couldn't get to….because it was in her pocket. She could feel the outline of the weapon where it was pressed against her thigh inside the power armour.

 _Idiot_ , she mentally chided herself.

Another bullet flew in Elara's direction before that electric burst sounded and her assailant was reduced to a pile of ashes. She'd have to thank Preston for that later. As she neared the edge of the brick, the rest of the raider's reinforcements came into view down the main street. Preston was back out on the balcony, firing into the fray. Peering over the edge, Elara took a deep breath before stepping out into open air. She landed with a resounding thud, the force of which knocked back the figure standing by the water pipes.

“C'mon, ya tin can, let's go!” he shouted, firing uselessly from his wooden pistol.

Deciding not to waste bullets, Elara simply smashed the barrel of the gun into his sternum, sending him sprawling back. He didn't get back up. Above her, she heard a sharp bark and looked up to see Dogmeat standing next to Preston as he cranked the musket. With a ripple of bunching muscles, the hound launched himself over the railing onto the nearest body, landing with a whimper.

“Dogmeat!” she called out, but before she could say anything else she was rushed by a grime-covered woman armed with another tire iron.

She heard the dull metal ring with the impact of the iron on her left bracer, but a swift backhand made short work of the woman's neck. Between Dogmeat and Preston's covering fire, there were only three or four raiders left cowering behind the sandbags.

“Come on, I got places to be,” snapped a man with greying hair clothed in what looked like an old construction harness.

Just then, there was an echoing roar from beneath them. Everyone froze in their tracks, combat momentarily suspended.

“What the fuck was that?” a woman asked shrilly.

Another roar, this one clearer, and the sewer grate at the far end of the street was shoved aside. Out of it crawled something straight out of a horror novel, all long claws and shiny scales. A curved pair of horns framed beady eyes and a wide jaw full of sharp teeth, and Elara could only stare in terror as it ripped the nearest raider in half. Shaking herself, she pressed the trigger as far as it would go.

“C'mon, c'mon,” she urged the gun as the barrel slowly spun up.

After what felt like a hour a spray of bullets erupted from the minigun, peppering the beast and catching the remaining raiders in her path. Dogmeat lunged daringly at the thing's various limbs, trying with all his might to drag it down. The bites barely seemed to bother the monster as it lumbered up the street towards her, the car behind it bursting into flames from the barrage. Elara could tell she was almost out of bullets by the loose end of the belt. She waited until the last possible moment, then, hoping the suit would comply, dodged to the side of the creature and bolted towards the empty storefront. The joints of the suit groaned at the strain of being unused for decades, but propelled her into the building just as the monster wheeled about.

She quickly popped out the used belt and hooked the new drum in. The first bullet was laid into the chamber, ready to meet flesh. The hulking thing was roaring in frustration outside the doorway, swiping its claws against the ground and throwing up dirt as Dogmeat circled around it. One of the heavy hands landed a blow against his flank, and he was flung onto the pavement with a high-pitched cry.

“Oh, no, don't you dare,” she snarled.

Elara pressed the trigger, waiting for the barrels to spin up before stepping out onto the porch. The force of being hit at a closer range made the beast stagger back this time. Unfortunately, it also fueled its anger as it charged for her. The force of the blow knocked her onto her back, the beast looming over her. She could see the strings of saliva hanging on its jaws, mixing with the blood of the raiders. She swatted at its snout like one would a fly, surprising the both of them with the strength of the blow.

The pause gave her enough time to haul herself to her feet. The rest of the drum was emptied into the scaly hide, and she could see it was starting to weaken. It charged at her again, stumbling a bit as its clawed feet struck the uneven pavement. Elara sidestepped just enough to only catch a glancing blow to the shoulder. She wheeled about and rammed the gun into its head, and it retaliated by swiping at her again with its daggered hand. The gun was discarded, its usefulness outlived, and she braced herself for another attack. When the beast got close enough to spit at, she rolled her weight back onto her right leg and swung upwards in a hefty undercut. The horned head skewed to the side in a way that was in no form natural, and the body dropped to the ground in a puff of dirt. Elara stood, panting against the screen of the helmet.

_Ok, monster's dead, now how do I get out of this thing?_

An old memory floated across her mind.

_“But how did you get out of them by yourself?”_

_“There was a latch by the pinkies,” Nate said, “in case either hand or the back hatch was damaged.”_

She flexed her fingers out, searching along the edge of the hand piece until she felt the small protruding lever. She hooked a digit around it and pulled towards her, and the screen went dark as the back panels opened. She backed out of the suit onto shaky legs, clutching the arm of the suit for support as it folded back in on itself. She cast around for Dogmeat, and stumbled over to his side on the road.

“Hey, you okay, boy?” she asked frantically, checking him over for any broken bones and cuts. He just grinned up at her with his ears pricked forwards, head tilted.

“You are a complete idiot,” she said firmly as she helped him to his feet. “Hey hey, lemme check your paws.” She gently held up each foot and rubbed them softly. To her surprise he didn't wince at all. The raider must've broken his fall.

“C'mon, let's go check on everyone,” she said as she strode towards the museum.

The stench of fear sweat and clotting blood filled her nose, and it took a good amount of willpower to keep her stomach in line and not think too hard about what had just transpired. Dogmeat slipped ahead of her through the front door, and she closed it with a soft click behind her. Everyone had come down from the office and was now gathered around one of the ticket booths.

“I'm fine Preston, quit fussin',” Mama Murphy was saying as Elara walked up to the group.

Preston looked up at her, an impressed quirk at his mouth.

“That was...a pretty amazing display,” he stated. “I'm just glad you're on our side.”

“I'm on my own side, Garvey,” she replied cooly. It was far too early for her to be getting involved with any factions or whatever.

His face fell noticeably. “That's a shame. You can never have too many friends in the Commonwealth.” He reached for something at his belt. “I know it's not much, but we can give you this.” A small drawstring pouch dangled from his fingers, clinking lightly.

“Thanks,” Elara said with some confusion, but she had been raised with some manners.

He appraised her for a moment, then continued, “Maybe you'll come to Sanctuary with us. We could use your help getting settled there.”

 _Yeah, I already live there, thanks_ , she didn't say.

“What would I need to do?” she instead asked aloud.

“You'd need to stay strong, like you been,” Mama Murphy interjected. “Cause there's more to your destiny. I've seen it. And I know your pain.”

“Don't give me that 'destiny' crap,” Elara spat.

“I just saw you go toe-to-toe with a twenty foot tall irradiated lizard. You tellin' me you can't keep an open mind after that?” Preston snapped at her, exasperated.

Mama Murphy spoke up before Elara could reply.

“It's alright, Preston. Not everyone understands the Sight.” She turned to look at Elara again. “But I don't need you to believe, I just need you to listen. You're a woman out of time. Out of hope. But all's not lost. I can feel…...your son's energy. He's alive.”

“…..I'm listening,” Elara said skeptically.

“Look, kid, I know how I sound,” she began. “The Sight, it's weird. And it ain't always clear. But your son's out there. And even I don't need the Sight to tell you where you should start lookin'. The great green jewel of the Commonwealth. Diamond City. The biggest settlement around.”

“That's….vague.”

“Look, kid, I'm tired now. Maybe you bring me some chems later, the Sight will paint a clearer picture.”

“No! Mama Murphy, we talked about this,” Preston cut in. “That junk...it's gonna kill you.”

“Oh, shush, Preston, we're all gonna die eventually.” Her tone made it evident they've had this exact discussion several times already. “We're gonna need the Sight. And our new friend here, she's gonna need it too. Now let's get goin', Sanctuary awaits.”

“Alright, folks,” Preston addressed the group, “thanks to our new friend here, it's safe to move out. We're headed for that place Mama Murphy knows about, Sanctuary. It's not far.”

“She knows about it?” Marcy sneered. “You mean she had one of her 'visions' while she was stoned out of her gourd. And now you want us to head out on another wild goose chase based on no better plan than 'Mama Murphy saw it'?!”

“It can hardly turn out any worse than-”

“Whoa whoa, hold on, hold on. Everybody just take it easy,” Sturges interjected, straightening from his position. “We're all in this together, right? So Marcy,” he turned to her, “You got a better idea of what we should do next?”

Her scowl only deepened as she stayed silent.

“Anybody?”

A beam creaked overhead.

“Well, then. Sanctuary it is,” he said matter-of-factly. “Let's just hope it lives up to its name.”

Mama Murphy had hoisted herself from the bench as they talked and was swaying in place. Marcy stood up as well.

“Come on, Jun. Time to go,” she said to her husband.

“Oh...ok,” he said meekly, following her.

Elara quietly made her way over to the doorway, still trying to hold her thoughts in place. Dogmeat nosed at her hand, licking her fingers. She smiled absently down and scratched behind his ears as the rest of the group joined them. Preston threw open the double doors and strode out into the brisk evening air.

“Let's move out. I'll take point. Stick close, everyone,” he ordered, hefting the musket in his arms.

They fell into a rough phalanx, Mama Murphy tagging along next to Elara, Jun and Marcy behind them, with Sturges bringing up the rear.

“First time I've seen one of these things up close,” Preston said as they neared the body of the fallen deathclaw. “I'm very glad it's already dead.”

She heard Sturges let out a low whistle as he passed it. “Big fella, ain't he?”

The only sound was the rhythmic tapping of boot soles on asphalt as they marched up the road north. Dogmeat trotted in and around their little formation, stopping back at Elara's side every now and then to bump her hands comfortingly.

“Can't say I'm going to miss this festering boil on the ass end of the Commonwealth,” Sturges commented as they climbed the hill. He caught Elara's glance over her shoulder. “Uh, no offense if you're from here or something,” he added quickly.

“None taken,” she shrugged. She folded her arms and decided to focus on the rust stains covering the guard rails and not on how many people she had killed in the past few hours.

“Marcy, where are we going?” Jun asked quietly.

“Don't worry, Jun. Just stay with me, it'll be fine.”

“Oh…...okay.”

Silence fell over the group again until they crested the hill, the Red Rocket coming into view.

“Well, look at that,” Sturges said excitedly. “I think I just found my new vacation home.”

“Your idea of heaven, eh, Sturges?” Preston joked over his shoulder. “Could be some good salvage in there. Let's get to Sanctuary first, though. I think we're close, right Mama Murphy?”

“Almost there,” the old woman affirmed.

Suddenly Preston dropped his rifle and strode off to the right of the road. Elara looked around and realised they were at the river's edge.

“Well, I'll be damned,” he swore softly. “It's the monument to the original Minutemen,” he informed the group, eyes shining with excitement. “I knew that was somewhere around Concord.”

“That means…….this right here must be the Old North Bridge,” he continued, marching up to the old wooden planks. “Where the first shots of the American Revolution were fired. I'd call that the best omen I've seen since we left Quincy.”

“I don't know what you're talking about, boss, but I'm glad you're happy about it,” Sturges chuckled from the back.

Preston's stiff march relaxed as they crossed over the bridge. Elara was too wrapped up in her own head to notice as she pulled ahead of the rest of them. Dogmeat fell into step beside her, panting happily as she walked up the wreckage-strewn street to her house. She shut the orange door behind her and the Shepard began eagerly sniffing around on the floor of the ruined kitchen. Out of habit, Elara headed to the master bedroom, only to find the bed frame in pieces, mattress missing entirely. She took in the missing windows, the piles of dead leaves piled up under broken dressers, and backed out into Shaun's room. Thankfully, the chair was still intact, and she sank down into the ancient stuffing with a sigh.

She felt something blunt and hard poking into her thigh, and she dug out the plastic holotape that Codsworth had given her. She forgot she had it still. Popping open the back of the Pip-Boy, she pressed play. There was a sharp screech of feedback before Nate's voice sounded through the speaker.

“Oops,” he chuckled, Shaun's soft cooing in the background. “No, no. Little fingers awaaay.” She closed her eyes, letting the familiar tone wash over her. “Just say it. Right there, right there. Go ahead.” Shaun giggled happily into the microphone.“Haha, yay!” Nate congratulated him.

“Hi honey,” Nate continued lovingly. “Listen, I don't think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a mother you are…..buuuut we're going to anyway. You are kind, and loving,-” Shaun let out another giggle- “and funny! That's right. And patient. So patient. Patience of a saint, as your mother used to say.”

Elara could picture him walking absently around Shaun's room, bouncing him as he talked. Her chest felt constricted and the corners of her eyes pricked as tears began to well.

“Look, with Shaun, and us all being at home together…..It's been an amazing year. But even so, I know our best days are to come. There will be changes sure. Things we'll need to adjust to. I'll rejoin the civilian workforce, you'll shake the dust off your law degree….” He trailed off for a moment. “But everything we do, no matter how hard….we do it for our family,” he said with quiet conviction.

“Now say goodbye, Shaun….Bye bye? Say bye bye?”

 _No, don't leave me. Not yet_ , she begged silently.

Shaun giggled again into the microphone. “Bye, honey,” Nate said, “we love you.”

The feedback sounded again as the tape finished, and then the room was silent again. The tears spilled down her cheeks, the events of the day finally hitting her with brutal reality, and she cried herself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how many times I redid this mission to get the dialogue right. 
> 
> Come say hi, I'm on [tumblr](https://lilbittywritings.tumblr.com/)


	4. Dust and Deconstruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, the holiday happened and I still wasn't super happy with how it was flowing. Hope it was worth the wait!

Her neck ached. There was a bright light from the other side of her eyelids as she came to. Elara was vaguely aware that she was in a stuffed chair as the rest of her senses processed. In the distant background, she could hear Codsworth's tuneless humming.

_Must've fallen asleep in Shaun's room again…_

_Shaun._

The thought shook something loose in her memories. Memories of a bomb, a gunshot, endless cold. A baby's cries.

_Please let all of this be a bad dream…….please…_

Elara pried her eyes open, lashes sticking together. She could feel the salt on her cheeks from tear tracks. The light that had woken her shone through a hole in the rusted metal roof. The once spotless white walls of her home now a dirty grey, windows shattered and dead leaves piled in the hallway. Her last piece of hope drained from her body and her shoulders heaved in a silent sob.

Dogmeat padded into the room as she wiped at her face. He sat at the foot of the chair and rested his head on her knee.

“Hey, boy,” she sniffled quietly.

He licked her fingers in response.

“Hello?” she heard the mechanic -Sturges, that's his name- call out. “Anybody in here?”

Dogmeat barked and ran back out into the hallway. She heard Sturges greet him in a warm murmur, then the man himself appeared in the doorway. Dogmeat plunked himself down on the tattered carpet, panting happily up at the two of them.

“Mornin',” Sturges said, giving her a glance over. She was sure she looked like sh-like trash.

“Morning,” she rasped back. She rubbed at her eyes again as she stood, rolling the stiffness from her shoulders.

“Y'know, in all that fuss back there we never got your name,” he said casually.

Elara thought back, and realised she indeed had not even introduced herself.

“Elara. ” She straightened the jacket that had skewed itself in her sleep.

“Elara, huh? What kind of name is that?”

“What kind of name is Sturges?” she quipped before she could stop herself. She readied an apology but all he did was chuckle.

“Fair enough, I suppose,” he said. He extended a calloused hand, which she shook. “Pleased to meet you, Elara.”

“Pleased to meet you, too,” she echoed with a faint smile.

“Well, we've got some food, if you're hungry,” he said as he released her hand. “It's not much, bunch of pre-war box stuff we found from some of the houses, but it's something. I imagine you're quite hungry after yesterday.”

Right on cue, her stomach yowled pitifully. Elara looked down blankly.

“I guess that's a yes,” she replied.

He just chuckled again. “Well, c'mon then. I think Preston was lookin' for you, too,” he said over his shoulder as they left the building.

Dogmeat stood, slipping between the pair and darting out the front door. Elara closed it behind her out of habit before crossing the street to her neighbour's old house. Preston walked by, whistling a bright marching tune, musket laser combination slack in his arms. He looked over at Elara as he passed, like he wanted to stop and say something, but kept walking. She nodded at him as she followed Sturges into the house.

There was an assortment of weathered boxes on the low coffee table, along with a can of purified water next to a dusty glass of the same. Mama Murphy was sitting in one of the chairs, half asleep. The Longs were nowhere to be seen.

“Help yourself,” Sturges motioned to the table.

She knelt on the floor, pursing her lips as she looked back and forth between the box of Fancy Lads and Dandy Boy apples. Irradiated chocolate or irradiated fruit. Well, in times of need chocolate has never failed her. She stood with the pink box, brushing the dead leaf matter from her pants. As an afterthought, she snagged the Salisbury steak for Dogmeat as well.

“Anything to drink?” Sturges offered. “I think Marcy found some Nuka Colas somewhere.”

“I, uh...I think I have some water back in the house,” Elara replied awkwardly, jerking her head back to her home. “Thanks for the food, though.”

A brief flash of disappointment flickered across sun-beaten skin, then it was smoothed over with that warm smile. “No problem, anytime.”

She nodded and backed out of the living room and crossed back into her on yard. She slipped inside, setting the box of cakes on the kitchen table, and opened the fridge. Greeted with nothing but a couple of empty milk glasses, she sighed.

_What did you expect, really? That everything would have stayed refrigerated for two centuries?_

_Force of habit. Not helping._

Closing the door again she began rummaging through the cupboards above the sink. Her searching fingers bumped into a metal cylinder, and she pulled it forward. The thin paper label was peeling, but it was unopened. Good enough. She snapped the tab and sipped, the metallic taste coating her tongue and making her wince. She gathered the box back up and sat out on the front steps.

The sun had warmed the concrete to a comfortable temperature that radiated through the layers of thick denim and cambric. She ripped open the cake box, ancient cardboard giving under her finger easily, and popped one in her mouth. A little dry, but better than nothing. The Geiger on the Pip-Boy ticked again as she chewed. She closed her eyes again, letting the wind in the trees soothe her thoughts, occasionally taking a sip of tepid water every now and then.

“How'd you sleep?” Preston's sudden appearance startled her out of staring blankly at the asphalt in front of her.

“I've…..definitely had better nights,” she responded slowly.

He nodded in understanding. “We all have,” he said forlornly.

“I'm glad you decided to come with us,” he continued. “I should have listened to Mama Murphy all along. Pretty nice place she's found for us.” His gaze travelled over the fallen trees and crushed houses. “I think we could settle down here, make it a place to call home. What do you think?” he asked, turning back to her.

“Yeah, I used to like living here,” she said around a cake. She paused. “Before the war.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean? Before what war?” He paused, then, “Are you saying...”

_Put words to it. Make it real._

She took a deep breath. “I lived here…..over 200 years ago. This was-is my house,” she motioned at the house behind her. “I was….frozen or something for most of it,” she explained to his incredulous look. “Just woke up yesterday.”

He continued to stare at her for another minute.

“Damn,” he said eventually. “Like one of those old pre-war ghouls….”

Elara began to fidget under his scrutiny.

“You said you were frozen. Anyone else make it out with you?”

“I…...I don't want to talk about it,” she said quickly, dropping her gaze to pick at her fingernails.

“No worries,” he said easily. “We've all got our past to deal with. I don't need to know anything you don't want to tell me.”

Her shoulders loosened a bit at that.

“Anyway, I am glad you're here,” he said genuinely. “By the way, if you want to help out around here at all, talk to Sturges. I'm sure he'd be glad for all the help he can get.”

She nodded and finished her water as Preston resumed his patrolling. Dogmeat had returned from his romp and joined her as she unfolded and went back in the house, carrying her garbage with her.

“Here, boy,” she said. She dragged the old plastic food dish from where it was shoved under the table. “It's not much, but I'm sure you're hungry.”

The steak slid with a plop from its plastic wrapping into the bowl, and she poured another can of water into the other half. Dogmeat snapped up the slab of meat with a flash of teeth and began lapping noisily.

“We'll get you some real food,” Elara promised as she gathered up the discarded boxes.

Not having a garbage bin to throw them in, she settled for leaving them on the island. Her fingers traced the rim of the long-dried coffee cup covered in dust. She could still taste the hot liquid like it was yesterday. Well, it was, for her at least….

She closed her eyes with a sigh. This was going to take some getting used to. She flipped through the torn comic next to it idly before letting it fall back onto the countertop. She headed back outside, needing to do….something to keep herself distracted. Something something idle hands, something something Devil's work...

“Hey, Sturges,” she called.

The mechanic turned from sorting through tools in the driveway.

“Hey, there,” he replied warmly.

“Preston said you needed help?”

“That I do.”

“What kind of help do you need?”

He paused. “Well, for starters, just the basics. Food, water, shelter. Any defenses we can scrape together.”

Elara nodded once, slowly. “That's…...ambitious.”

“It is,” he agreed. “Still interested?”

“I'd be happy to help.” _Anything to stay busy._

“Okay, good deal.” He rubbed his hands on his jeans.

“So, what's first on the list?”

“Well, for starters, we could use some real beds. We've been sleeping on the ground for too long. Just make sure we can sleep with a roof over our heads. Some of these old houses still look solid enough to do the trick.”

“I'm on it,” she said.

Stepping into the house Elara looked up at the ceiling. The steel ribs were all still in place but some of the sheeting had rusted out.

“Hey, do you think scrap from the collapsed houses would fit in here?” she called out to Sturges.

He came inside and stood beside her, calculating gaze aimed at the open holes.

“Probably, if we can get small enough pieces,” he said thoughtfully after a pause. “Those frames have stood for this long, don't see why they'd give out now.”

Elara nodded and headed back outside, Sturges on her heels. A large hunk of white enameled steel lay clinging to its support beams on the ground, and after some elbow grease and a couple of screwdrivers they were dragging the slabs back into the house. The grind and scrape of metal on metal rang in Elara's ears, and her arms were starting to ache from use, but eventually the roof was more or less solidly covered.

“Well, I think that'll do it,” said Sturges as he slid the last piece into place. “Ready to get started on the next one?”

Elara was fairly certain he was joking, but she shook her head and waved him off anyway.

“Later, I think there's plenty of room in here for now.”

He chuckled. “S'ppose that's true. Now we just need some beds and this place'll be just like home.”

“Beds. Right.” Elara paused. “I have no idea what we can use. There might be some old rugs around but it might not be enough.”

“I'm perfectly willing to take the couch over there if need be,” he said pointing with his chin at the black sofa pushed into the corner. “I'm more concerned 'bout everybody else. It's been a rough few weeks.”

She tilted her head in thought. “I can look in Concord, see if there's anything usable.”

“That's all you. If it's all the same, I'd like to stay here,” Sturges said.

“That's fine, Codsworth might be willing to help.”

“Codsworth? That that robot butler?”

Elara nodded.

“Well, happy huntin', then,” he said.

She dipped her head again and looked up and down the street for the Mr. Handy. The strains of an accented hum caught her attention, pulling her towards the caul-de-sac. Codsworth was aimlessly floating along, but he perked right up at the sight of her.

“Welcome back, mum!” he greeted her cheerily. “I do hope you were able to find some assistance in Concord.”

“You could say that,” Elara replied. “I made a few new friends.”

“Can't have enough of those these days,” he chuckled.

“I realise that I'm no Mister Gutsy,” he continued, “but if needed, I'd be honoured to accompany you throughout the Commonwealth. Just say the word!”

“Yes, of course. I was hoping you'd help me in Concord, actually.”

“Alrighty then,” he said with a whir. “What's the project?”

“We need beds,” she said as she began walking back up the street, Dogmeat trotting along in front of them. “There might be some old mattresses we can drag up, or scraps to make sleeping bags with.”

“A fine idea, mum. I'm sure we'll find something usable.”

 

x

 

The crows were gathered in the street, the power armour still standing where she had left it, but other than that the streets were empty. The only noises were the banners flapping half-heartedly in the mild breeze and the sounds of their footsteps.

“Right or left?” Elara asked Codsworth.

“Sorry?” he said confusedly.

“Right side of the street or left?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, floating on ahead.

He came to a stop in front of a white door about halfway up the road.

“Looks like this one might have something worthwhile,” he called back.

Elara jogged up the pavement to meet him, eyeing the white washed building. Dogmeat eagerly circled her legs, tail wagging. She slipped the 10mm from her pocket, holding it low and ready as she eased the door open. The room inside was dusty, sunlight filtering in through cracks in the walls and catching the motes as they floated. Taking another step in she looked over the skeletons still propped upright on the couch. One still even had a burnt-out cigar clamped in its jaws. Dogmeat brushed past her further into the bar area, nose to the ground as he padded around.

“Looks clear,” Elara said quietly as she flicked the safety back on. “Let's see if anything's upstairs.”

The pair of them made their way up the rickety steps, Dogmeat still sniffing around on the ground floor. The first door at the top of the stairs was locked when she tried turning the handle, much to her disappointment. She made a mental note to come back later. The next room at least had a mattress piled onto the broken bedframe. The white cloth was largely unsoiled, as far as she could tell.

“Mum, there's two more mattresses in this one,” Codsworth called from down the hall.

“Good. Let's get them downstairs, at least, I still want to pick through all those raiders,” she replied.

The mattress wasn't too heavy, only dusty, which had her sneezing all the way back downstairs to lean it against the cigarette machine. She tied the bandana that was stuffed in an inner pocket over her nose and mouth before going back up for the other two. Codsworth had managed to drag one halfway down the hall in his pincer, and they made short work of the last one together.

“Alright, anything else worth bringing?” she asked as the third mattress was leaned against the wall.

“I thought I saw a bathroom in one of the rooms,” Codsworth suggested. “Perhaps some soap or other such things are still in there?”

“Maybe. C'mon, boy!” Elara beckoned to Dogmeat as she climbed the stairs again.

The canine bounded up ahead of her in a flash of brown and cream fur, trotting down the hallway to wait for her in the doorway. Just inside she could see a dark green bottle in the sink, another one on the ground just beyond. She rounded the bend to the right and-

-almost dropped her gun with a yelp.

“Everything all right, mum?” Codsworth asked from below.

“Um. I don't know,” she replied after a moment.

Surrounding the bathtub were three mannequins. Inside the putrid water was an entire skeleton, save the head, which was in the toilet bowl. All three plastic figures were armed, two holding machetes and another a screwdriver. None of them seemed to be any different than a plain old store mannequin, but she had no idea why someone would stage them like this. Dogmeat's hackles were raised and he was snarling open-mouthed.

“Oh my,” Codsworth said from behind her, “what a grisly picture.”

Elara carefully pulled one of the machetes from the nearest hand, and grabbing the pill bottles hastily, made her retreat.

“That was unnerving,” the robot observed as the trio made their way back out into the street.

“You can say that again,” she replied with a shiver. “Anyway. I want to get all the armour I can off those raiders, then we can head back up.”

“Lead the way, mum.”

 

X

 

Arms loaded with piles of leather, Elara emerged from the museum, holding the door with her foot for Codsworth, who was similarly burdened. Dogmeat tugged playfully at a dangling strap before she shooed him off. She dropped her load against one of the sandbag barriers outside of the speakeasy before shrugging off her outer jacket. The heat of the day was beginning to make her sweat under the flannel.

“Is this everything?” Codsworth asked with mild disdain.

She shook her head. “There's still all those guns. I think I can fit them all in one of those duffel bags,” she said as she headed back inside once more.

“Do you think we'll need tools?” she panted as she dragged a stuffed green duffel through the doors behind her.

“Probably couldn't hurt,” replied the robot as he hovered anxiously, moving from corpse to corpse and...wringing his arms, almost.

Elara abandoned the bag in favour of searching through the hardware store, snagging the roll of duct tape and some lightbulbs. Those she wrapped in a pair of arm guards before placing them carefully with the pistols. After a second, she grabbed the empty cans off the shelf as well.

“Are we packrats now, mum?” Codsworth asked drily. She just glared as she piled them next to the lightbulbs.

“Any idea of how to get all these back to Sanctuary?” Codsworth asked on a more serious note.

“I'm working on it,” Elara replied as she pulled one of the mattresses out through the door.

It fell to the pavement, sending a puff of dirt up around it. She stopped, regarded it, looked to the pile of armour, back at the mattress.

“What if….” she began as she started laying out the leather flat along the street.

There was just enough to make a border around the old bedspring.

“Aha, very clever, mum,” he said as he assisted her in pulling out laces to tie them together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so uh, them mannequins, huh....Creepy motherfuckers
> 
> Find me on tumblr [here](https://lilbittywritings.tumblr.com) and [here](https://lilbittymonster.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we go. Let me know what you think!


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